


Water

by Dawnshadow



Series: Two Scions Walk Into a Bar.... [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: And Is Now Speculating Wildly, Asexuality (discussed), Author Has Been Blindsided By Canon, F/M, Fate, Mourning, Spoilers: ARR Grand Finale, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 09:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20171827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnshadow/pseuds/Dawnshadow
Summary: In the wake of Nabriales, Thancred returns to the Waking Sands—Urianger should not be alone now, of all times. They speak of love, of memory… and of fate.





	Water

**Author's Note:**

> I just hit Heavensward. 
> 
> First of all, that was one hell of a grand finale and it made all of the post-2.0 bullshit worth it. Bravo.
> 
> Secondly, dramatic irony is my drug of choice and I have just been given an overdose. I picked Urianger to have a chat with Lahabrea about sixty quests and four vignettes ago based on his attention to detail and how fun he is to write, then kept going because the character interactions were a blast. Most appropriate blind decision ever, now that I've seen THAT scene. (I'm only a little bitter that we don't get to see the conversation that follows.)
> 
> The coda scene is going to have some educated guessing on Urianger's motivations and thoughts leading up to -that scene- that may or may not be correct because I have just been blindsided by canon. I've been told that my intuition on how he should be written is solid, and I know he's not going to burn any bridges too terribly badly because the Warrior of Light is still talking to him in the current expansion. If I'm proven wrong, I'm proven wrong.
> 
> Also, Moenbryda's name means "moon bride." Urianger is, of course, aware of this—he references it directly in his canon eulogy for her.

"Begone. I have given thee thy answer." Urianger's voice rang with unusual ire. "I will not be called like some loyal carbuncle. By one such as _him_ in particular."

Thancred gave the door a puzzled look. Who did he think he was speaking to? "Urianger. It's me."

"Thancred?" There were shuffling sounds behind the door. "I apologize. My wrath was never intended for thine ears. I've had a messenger most unwelcome—seeking the same preferential treatment as those who drove the Scions away from this refuge— who remains stubbornly ignorant to the fact that I am merely the groundskeeper." Thancred wasn't quite sure he believed that, but he let it go.

There was a click as the lock disengaged, then the door to Urianger's quarters opened. Urianger—hidden behind goggles and hood as always-- rarely made himself _easy_ to read, but he still seemed to have a certain slump to his shoulders. "I thought you might want for company," Thancred said. "And I'm a decent listener, when I choose to be."

"Thou doth desire to repay a favor." He sounded weary.

"No." Thancred stepped in. The room hadn't changed much, unlike the rest of the building left empty and echoing—every available wall lined with books, smelling of old incense and paper and leather, lit by aetheric lanterns. A book lay open on the desk, pages of notes and something that looked like a star chart scattered in unusual disarray around it. "I wished only to offer you comfort, if you desire it. Not to remove myself from some imagined debt. We've been worried about you—all of us."

"Thank you, Thancred. I appreciate thine offer. But there is nothing to be done." Urianger settled back in before his desk. He dipped his pen in the inkwell and continued working on what appeared to be a complex aetheric equation. "My moon hath fallen. And my world lies broken."

Thancred flinched at that description; at the devastation of spirit he'd implied. "….I'm sorry. I wish there were something more I could do."

"I require that book. There—to the right of the one on which thine hand rests." Thancred looked at the shelf he'd been leaning on, then pulled the book requested and offered it to Urianger. A book about Sharlayan prophetics? Urianger opened the book and took up a new sheet of paper, starting to cross-reference his calculations with a speed on the edge of manic fervor.

"How long has it been since you last ate, or took a break from your work?" Thancred knew well how easy it was to lose time, down here—with no sun nor sight of the sky, there was nothing to remind one to stop researching, stop working. How very easy it was to bury oneself in duty as a substitute for feeling, thinking, _hurting_. And he knew well the cost.

"I ate when last I hungered." Urianger paused over his calculations, frowning. "…water would be welcome."

"Of course." Thancred took up the carafe, noting with a frown that it was entirely dry. "I'll be back ere long." And he was not—it took only a minute to duck into the kitchen and return with it full. He poured Urianger a cup. "Here. Drink."

Urianger wrote down a few more notes, then set the pen aside and accepted the water. He drank heavily, as if he'd only realized how he thirsted once the first drops passed his lips, then filled the cup to drink again. "Thank you." He reached once again for his pen.

"What are you working on?" Thancred asked, looking the work over while Urianger drank. "If you'd like to speak of it."

"Fate." Urianger frowned deeply. "Long have I worked with prophecies written by others. Interpreting them, applying them, at times working to defy them. But to defy fate one must first know what has been foretold. And some matters, while vitally important to oneself, are far below the concern of those who commit their visions to paper." He turned to another page in the book he had been referencing. "There are those who say each man's fate is told for him, written in the movements of the heavens. As a student I briefly considered taking up the art, but found I preferable to explore what had already been prophesied. Even more so as it became increasingly clear that what we now know as the Calamity was nigh."

"And now… you regret your choice. You wish you could have seen Moenbryda's destiny." Thancred rested a hand on Urianger's shoulder.

Urianger nodded. "I must know. Could her fate have been changed, had I but turned to the heavens and heard their warning?" He looked back to the paper, then to his references. "Unfortunately, it seems I have erred gravely."

"Urianger. This doesn't change anything. Even if you--"

"No." Urianger held a hand up, interrupting him. "My error was in my reading of her stars, not in my decision to forgo its mastery so long ago. They claim—should one presume my interpretation to be correct -- that she was destined to be wed to a horse before ascending to rule the Garlean Empire." He sighed deeply and put the paper aside. "I fear this to be futility."

Thancred squeezed his shoulder. "Come. Enough of that for now. Sit with me for a while."

"…as is thine wish." Urianger stood and made his way to the rug at the center of the room, then sat—he clearly didn't often, if ever, entertain guests. "Moenbryda—in our days as children—would do much the same for me. I was prone to becoming lost in my reading, even more so than now, and she was often the one who would bring food and drink, or persuade me to seek my rest." He pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his head on them. "I know not how her fascination fell upon me. Again and again I tried to turn her away, and every time she fought all the more diligently to earn a place in my confidence, 'til she'd worn away my resistance and I found myself enjoying her company despite my best efforts."

Thancred sat with him, in arm's reach. "She was good for you," he observed, quietly. "And you loved her."

Urianger nodded. "I did. Yet I could not ask her to dedicate herself to me. For, despite my affection, I did not _desire_ her, not as she deserved to be desired. And so I admired her from afar, and prayed she would one day find another who was worthy."

"If it helps…" Thancred rested a hand on Urianger's shoulder again. "She loved you, as well. She never said as such in words, but the way she spoke of you, the way she looked at you—it was clear. And when you were with her, it was much the same. I've never seen you smile so much. I've never woke to find you still up, having conversed through the night. She doubtlessly knew of your love for her, even if you never put it to words, even if you never took her to your bed. Your every action when you were with her proclaimed it. She had to know. And, to her, you _were_ worthy."

Urianger pulled off his goggles as he started to sob. And Thancred stayed with him, and offered what little comfort he could, hoping only that perhaps his words would bring some measure of peace. There were things that, once broken, could not be mended… but, in time, they could find a way to go on, regardless.

Fate. Written in the stars. Woven by the acts of men. He remembered that night well. Tataru's voice ringing forlorn over the linkpearl, unanswered. Alisaie's panic as the news filtered in, swiftly followed by resolve and action, saving her brother. And he had sat idle malms away while the other Scions bled and perhaps died, unable to find the heart to celebrate, unaware of their plight until it was far too late to help them.

He hadn't been there. And now they were lost, all but their champion, the twins, and Tataru. Had the stars foretold this as well, while he stood blind beneath them? Had he chosen to attend the misbegotten celebration, would he have made the difference, or would he have merely been lost as well?

And so there was but one thing left to him: to move forward. To learn what he could. The old wood of the stairs creaked under his sandal as he descended, and he paused. An abandoned dungeon had not been where he envisioned being summoned to. But nothing answered, and so he moved, more carefully now so as to not betray his presence, and slipped into shadows when voices echoed through darkened hall. Ascian voices, speaking their own arcane tongue. Unfortunate. The Emissary and another, his back turned. They spoke, and then the Emissary said something that sounded like a rebuke.

The dark-robed one turned. Urianger remembered well that mask, and his hands tightened into fists. Would that he had a blade of light… Lahabrea simply echoed whatever the Emissary had said and left. Urianger waited until he could no longer hear footsteps before he moved forward, into light.

"I have answered thy summons, Emissary." He was not afraid. How many nights had he spent in sleep unguarded, alone within the Waking Sands? Had the Ascians wanted him as prisoner or pawn, it would have happened long ago, and not by means of invitation. "Speak, and make thine intent known."

The Emissary turned to him. Watched him for some seconds with hawklike visage before he spoke—mercifully in mortal tongue. "I would speak of fate, Archon." He smiled. "Yours, mine—the fate of this very star."

Fate. Yes, he would speak of it—of fate which he had failed to read, which had so often betrayed him. He had little left to lose.

**Author's Note:**

> ....I may have to rename the series/slightly revamp the premise if I keep on going. Right now I'm not quite sure what the hell Urianger is doing so it's suddenly a lot harder to write for him and I'm not sure when Thancred is going to come back.
> 
> I have a fun ride ahead of me, nonetheless.


End file.
